THE INVASION OF NOTRE DAME DE SION
Talaat’s statement that the German Chief of Staff, Bronssart, had really
held up this train, was a valuable piece of information. I decided to
look into the matter further, and, with this idea in my mind, I called
next day on Wangenheim. The Turkish authorities, I said, had solemnly
promised that they would treat their enemies decently, and certainly I
could not tolerate any interference in the matter from the German Chief
of Staff. Wangenheim had repeatedly told me that the Germans were
looking to President Wilson as the peacemaker and I therefore used the
same argument with him that I had urged on Talaat. Proceedings of this
sort would not help his country when the day of the final settlement
came! Here, I said, we have a strange situation; a so-called barbarous
country, like Turkey, attempting to make civilized warfare and treat
their Christian enemies with decency and kindness, and, on the other
hand, a supposedly cultured and Christian nation, like Germany, which is
trying to persuade them to revert to barbarism. “What sort of an
impression do you think that will make on the American people?” I asked
Wangenheim. He expressed a willingness to help and suggested, as my
consideration for such help, that I should try to persuade the United
States to insist on free commerce with Germany, so that his country
could receive plentiful cargoes of copper, wheat, and cotton. This was
a subject to which, as I shall relate, Wangenheim constantly returned.
Despite Wangenheim’s promise I had practically no support from the
German Embassy in my attempt to protect the foreign residents from
Turkish ill treatment. I realized that, owing to my religion, there
might be a feeling in certain quarters that I was not exerting all my
energies in behalf of these Christian peoples and religious
organizations--hospitals, schools, monasteries, and convents--and I
naturally thought that it would strengthen my influence with the Turks
if I could have the support of my most powerful Christian colleagues. I
had a long discussion on this matter with Pallavicini, himself a
Catholic and the representative of the greatest Catholic power.
Pallavicini frankly told me that Wangenheim would do nothing that would
annoy the Turks. There was then a constant fear that the English and
French fleets would force the Dardanelles, capture Constantinople, and
hand it over to Russia, and only the Turkish forces, said Pallavicini,
could prevent such a calamity. The Germans, therefore, believed that
they were dependent on the good graces of the Turkish Government, and
would do nothing to antagonize them. Evidently Pallavicini wished me to
believe that Wangenheim and he really desired to help. Yet this plea was
hardly frank, for I knew all the time that Turkey, if the Germans had
not constantly interfered, would have behaved decently. I found that the
evil spirit was not the Turkish Government, but Von Bronssart, the
German Chief of Staff. The fact that certain members of the Turkish
Cabinet, who represented European and Christian culture--men like
Bustány and Oskan--had resigned as a protest against Turkey’s action in
entering the war, made the situation of foreigners even more dangerous.
There was also much conflict of authority; a policy decided on one day
would be reversed the next, the result being that we never knew where we
stood. The mere fact that the Government promised me that foreigners
would not be maltreated by no means settled the matter, for some
underling, like Bedri Bey, could frequently find an excuse for
disregarding instructions. The situation, therefore, was one that called
for constant vigilance; I had not only to get pledges from men like
Talaat and Enver, but I had personally to see that these pledges were
carried into action.
I awoke one November morning at four o’clock; I had been dreaming, or I
had had a “presentiment,” that all was not going well with the Sion
Sœurs, a French sisterhood which had for many years conducted a
school for girls in Constantinople. Madame Bompard, the wife of the
French Ambassador, and several ladies of the French colony, had
particularly requested us to keep a watchful eye on this institution. It
was a splendidly conducted school; the daughters of many of the best
families of all nationalities attended it, and when these girls were
assembled, the Christians wearing silver crosses and the non-Christians
silver stars, the sight was particularly beautiful and impressive.
Naturally the thought of the brutal Turks breaking into such a community
was enough to arouse the wrath of any properly constituted man. Though
we had nothing more definite than an uneasy feeling that something might
be wrong, Mrs. Morgenthau and I decided to go up immediately after
breakfast. As we approached the building we noted nothing particularly
suspicious; the place was quiet and the whole atmosphere was one of
peace and sanctity. Just as we ascended the steps, however, five Turkish
policemen followed on our heels. They crowded after us into the
vestibule, much to the consternation of a few of the sisters, who
happened to be in the waiting room. The mere fact that the American
Ambassador came with the police in itself increased their alarm, though
our arrival together was purely accidental.
“What do you want?” I asked, turning to the men. As they spoke only
Turkish, naturally they did not understand me, and they started to push
me aside. My own knowledge of Turkish was extremely limited, but I knew
that the word “Elchi” meant “Ambassador.” So, pointing to myself, I
said,
“Elchi American.”
This scrap of Turkish worked like magic. In Turkey an ambassador is a
much-revered object, and these policemen immediately respected my
authority. Meanwhile the sisters had sent for their superior, Mère
Elvira. This lady was one of the most distinguished and influential
personages in Constantinople. That morning, as she came in quietly and
faced these Turkish policemen, showing not a sign of fear, and
completely overawing them by the splendour and dignity of her bearing,
she represented to my eyes almost a supernatural being. Mère Elvira was
a daughter of one of the most aristocratic families of France; she was a
woman of perhaps forty years of age, with black hair and shining black
eyes, all accentuated by a pale face that radiated culture, character,
and intelligence. I could not help thinking, as I looked at her that
morning, that there was not a diplomatic circle in the world to which
she would not have added grace and dignity. In a few seconds Mère Elvira
had this present distracting situation completely under control. She
sent for a sister who spoke Turkish and questioned the policemen. They
said that they were acting under Bedri’s orders. All the foreign schools
were to be closed that morning, the Government intending to seize all
their buildings. There were about seventy-two teachers and sisters in
this convent; the police had orders to shut all these into two rooms,
where they were to be held practically as prisoners. There were about
two hundred girls; these were to be turned out into the streets, and
left to shift for themselves. The fact that it was raining in torrents,
and that the weather was extremely cold, accentuated the barbarity of
this proceeding. Yet every enemy school and religious institution in
Constantinople was undergoing a similar experience at this time. Clearly
this was a situation which I could not handle alone, and I at once
telephoned my Turkish-speaking legal adviser. Herein is another incident
which may have an interest for those who believe in providential
intervention. When I arrived in Constantinople telephones had been
unknown, but, in the last few months, an English company had been
introducing a system. The night before my experience with the Sion
Sœurs, my legal adviser had called me up and proudly told me that his
telephone had just been installed. I jotted down his number, and this
memorandum I now found in my pocket. Without my interpreter I should
have been hard pressed, and without this telephone I could not have
immediately brought him to the spot.
While waiting for his arrival I delayed the operations of the policemen,
and my wife, who fortunately speaks French, was obtaining all the
details from the sisters. Mrs. Morgenthau understood the Turks well
enough to know that they had other plans than the mere expulsion of the
sisters and their charges. The Turks regard these institutions as
repositories of treasure; the valuables which they contain are greatly
exaggerated in the popular mind; and it was a safe assumption that,
among other things, this expulsion was an industrious raiding expedition
for tangible evidences of wealth.
“Have you any money and other valuables here?” Mrs. Morgenthau asked one
of the sisters.
Yes, they had quite a large amount; it was kept in a safe upstairs. My
wife told me to keep the policemen busy and then she and one of the
sisters quietly disappeared from the scene. Upstairs the sister
disclosed about a hundred square pieces of white flannel into each one
of which had been sewed twenty gold coins. In all, the Sion Sœurs had
in this liquid form about fifty thousand francs. They had been fearing
expulsion for some time and had been getting together their money in
this form, so that they could carry it away with them when forced to
leave Turkey. Besides this, the sisters had several bundles of
securities, and many valuable papers, such as the charter of their
school. Certainly here was something that would appeal to Turkish
cupidity. Mrs. Morgenthau knew that if the police once obtained control
of the building there would be little likelihood that the Sion Sœurs
would ever see their money again. With the aid of the sisters, my wife
promptly concealed as much as she could on her person, descended the
stairs, and marched through the line of gendarmes out into the rain.
Mrs. Morgenthau told me afterward that her blood almost ran cold with
fright as she passed by these guardians of the law; from all external
signs, however, she was absolutely calm and collected. She stepped into
the waiting auto, was driven to the American Embassy, placed the money
in our vault, and promptly returned to the school. Again Mrs. Morgenthau
solemnly ascended the stairs with the sisters. This time they took her
to the gallery of the Cathedral, which stood behind the convent, but
could be entered through it. One of the sisters lifted up a tile from a
particular spot in the floor, and again disclosed a heap of gold coins.
This was secreted on Mrs. Morgenthau’s clothes, and once more she walked
past the gendarmes, out into the rain, and was driven rapidly to the
Embassy. In these two trips my wife succeeded in getting the money of
the sisters to a place where it would be safe from the Turks.
Between Mrs. Morgenthau’s trips Bedri had arrived. He told me that
Talaat had himself given the order for closing all the institutions and
that they had intended to have the entire job finished before nine
o’clock. I have already said that the Turks have a sense of humour; but
to this statement I should add that it sometimes manifests itself in a
perverted form. Bedri now seemed to think that locking more than seventy
Catholic sisters in two rooms and turning two hundred young and
carefully nurtured girls into the streets of Constantinople was a great
joke.
“We were going at it early in the morning and have it all over before
you heard anything about it,” he said with a laugh. “But you seem never
to be asleep.”
“You are very foolish to try to play such tricks on us,” I said. “Don’t
you know that I am going to write a book? If you go on behaving this
way, I shall put you in as the villain.”
This remark was an inspiration of the moment; it was then that it first
occurred to me that these experiences might prove sufficiently
interesting for publication. Bedri took the statement seriously, and it
seemed to have a sobering effect.
“Do you really intend to write a book?” he asked, almost anxiously.
“Why not?” I rejoined. “General Lew Wallace was minister here--didn’t he
write a book? ‘Sunset’ Cox was also minister here--didn’t he write one?
Why shouldn’t I? And you are such an important character that I shall
have to give you a part. Why do you go on acting in a way that will make
me describe you as a very bad man? These sisters here have always been
your friends. They have never done you anything but good; they have
educated many of your daughters; why do you treat them in this shameful
fashion?”
This plea produced an effect; Bedri consented to postpone execution of
the order until we could get Talaat on the wire. In a few minutes I
heard Talaat laughing over the telephone.
“I tried to escape you,” he said, “but you have caught me again. Why
make such a row about this matter? Didn’t the French themselves expel
all their nuns and monks? Why shouldn’t we do it?”
After I had remonstrated over this indecent haste Talaat told Bedri to
suspend the order until we had had a chance to talk the matter over.
Naturally this greatly relieved Mère Elvira and the sisters. Just as we
were about to leave, Bedri suddenly had a new idea. There was one detail
which he had apparently forgotten.
“We’ll leave the Sion sisters alone for the present,” he said, “but we
must get their money.”
Reluctantly I acquiesced in his suggestion--knowing that all the
valuables were safely reposing in the American Embassy. So I had the
pleasure of standing by and watching Bedri and his associates search the
whole establishment. All they turned up was a small tin box containing a
few copper coins, a prize which was so trifling that the Turks disdained
to take it. They were much puzzled and disappointed, and from that day
to this they have never known what became of the money. If my Turkish
friends do me the honour of reading these pages, they will find that I
have explained here for the first time one of the many mysteries of
those exciting days.
As some of the windows of the convent opened on the court of the
Cathedral, which was Vatican property, we contended that the Turkish
Government could not seize it. Such of the sisters as were neutrals were
allowed to remain in possession of the part that faced the Vatican land,
while the rest of the building was turned into an Engineers’ School. We
arranged that the French nuns should have ten days to leave for their
own country; they all reached their destination safely, and most are at
present engaged in charities and war work in France.
My jocular statement that I intended to write a book deeply impressed
Bedri, and, in the next few weeks, he repeatedly referred to it. I kept
banteringly telling him that, unless his behaviour improved, I should be
forced to picture him as the villain. One day he asked me, in all
seriousness, whether he could not do something that would justify me in
portraying him in a more favourable light. This attitude gave me an
opportunity I had been seeking for some time. Constantinople had for
many years been a centre for the white-slave trade and a particularly
vicious gang was then operating under cover of a fake synagogue. A
committee, organized to fight this crew, had made me an honorary
chairman. I told Bedri that he now had the chance to secure a
reputation; because of the war, his powers as Prefect of Police had been
greatly increased and a little vigorous action on his part would
permanently rid the city of this disgrace. The enthusiasm with which
Bedri adopted my suggestion and the thoroughness and ability with which
he did the work entitle him to the gratitude of all decent people. In a
few days every white-slave trader in Constantinople was scurrying for
safety; most were arrested, a few made their escape; such as were
foreigners, after serving terms in jail, were expelled from the country.
Bedri furnished me photographs of all the culprits and they are now on
file in our State Department. I was not writing a book at that time, but
I felt obliged to secure some public recognition for Bedri’s work. I
therefore sent his photograph, with a few words about his achievement,
to the New York _Times_, which published it in a Sunday edition. That a
great American newspaper had recognized him in this way delighted Bedri
beyond words. For months he carried in his pocket the page of the
_Times_ containing his picture, showing it to all his friends. This
event ended my troubles with the Prefect of Police; for the rest of my
stay we had very few serious clashes.